had terribly bad luck just lately. We did
begin well."

"No: it has all been a dreary muddle, and I'm sick of it."

"Yes, you often are of a night, Dyke; but after a night's rest you are
ready enough to go on again in a right spirit. No, my lad, we'll never
say die."

"Who wants to! I want to have a try at something else. Let's go and
hunt and get lion and leopard skins, and fill the wagon, and bring them
back and sell them."

"Plenty of people are doing that, Dicky."

"Well then, let's go after ivory; shoot elephants, and bring back a load
to sell. It's worth lots of money."

"Plenty of people are doing that too, boy."

"Oh, you won't try, Joe, and that's what makes me so wild."

"You mean, I won't set a seed to-day and dig it up to-morrow to see why
it hasn't come up."

"That's what you always say," said Dyke grumpily.

"Yes, because we came out here with so many hundred pounds, Dicky, to
try an experiment--to make an ostrich-farm."

"And we've failed."

"Oh dear, no, my lad. We've spent all our money--invested it here in a
wagon and oxen and house."

"House! Ha, ha, ha! What a house!"

"Not handsome, certainly, Dicky."

"Dicky! There you go again."

"Yes, there I go again. And in our enclosures and pens, and horses and
guns and ammunition, and in paying our men. So we can't afford to give
up if we wanted to."

"But see what a desolate place it is!"

"Big, vast, level, and wild, but the very spot for our purpose."

"And not a neighbour near."

"To quarrel with? No, not one. No, Dyke, we mustn't give it up; and
some day you'll say I'm right."

"Never," cried the boy emphatically.

"Never's a long day, Dyke.--Look here, lad, I'm going to tell you an old
story."

"Thankye," said Dyke sullenly. "I know--about Bruce and the spider."

"Wrong, old fellow, this time. Another author's story that you don't
know."

"Bother the old stories!" cried the boy.

The big manly fellow laughed good-humouredly.

"Poor old Dyke! he has got it badly this time. What is it--prickly heat
or home-sickness, or what?"

"Everything. I'm as miserable as mizzer," cried Dick. "Oh, this desert
is dreary."

"Not it, Dyke; it's wild and grand. You are tired and disappointed.
Some days must be dark and dreary, boy. Come, Dyke, pluck! pluck!
pluck!"

"I haven't got any; sun's dried it all out of me."

"Has it?" said his brother, laughing. "I don't believe it. No, Dicky,
we can't go home an